The Soldier's Tale by Jonathan Moeller Read Free Book Online

management of
Castra Marcaine after her mother had died. And she saw to it that
no one in Castra Marcaine or its town when hungry, that the sick
and orphans and widows were cared for in the town’s church.
    She saw him looking, smiled, and then
looked down. Her younger sister Imaria caught him looking and
scowled.
    “Ha!” said Joram, slapping Ridmark on the
shoulder again. “The Lady Aelia likes you, my friend.”
    Ridmark expected Constantine to protest,
but the squire only nodded. “Indeed, Sir Ridmark. I think you would
make a worthy husband for my sister. Certainly better than some of
her other suitors.”
    Joram snorted. “And who might you mean by
that?”
    “It would be uncouth and unbecoming to say,
sir,” said Constantine, and then fell silent.
    The man Constantine meant walked towards
them, his followers trailing after.
    Ridmark stepped forward, resisting the urge
to reach for Heartwarden. Another knight approached him, a tall,
lean man about Ridmark’s own age with close-cropped blond hair, a
neatly trimmed beard, and blue eyes like disks of ice. Several
other knights followed him, like wolves trailing the leader of the
pack.
    They stared at each other, waiting for the
other to speak.
    “Sir Ridmark,” said Tarrabus Carhaine at
last.
    “Sir Tarrabus,” said Ridmark.
    They had never gotten along, from the day
both had arrived at Castra Marcaine to serve as squires. Later
Ridmark had tried to put their rivalry behind him. Tarrabus was the
eldest son of the Dux of Caerdracon, would one day be the Dux
himself. If he was arrogant and proud, that was no different from
the children of many other lords and knights, and perhaps Tarrabus
would grow out of it.
    But while he could not deny Tarrabus’s
courage or skill with a blade, Ridmark’s dislike of the man had
only grown. He was brutal and merciless to anyone in his way. If a
freeholder or a townsman annoyed him, he sent his followers to
harass and torment the unfortunate man. Once, when they had gotten
drunk together with the other squires, he had told Ridmark that he
thought of the peasants as cattle, as beasts to be shaped and used
as their lords wished.
    Ridmark had given up trying to make peace
with Tarrabus after that, and would have preferred to ignore
him.
    But Tarrabus wanted to wed Aelia, and
Tarrabus would one day be the Dux of Caerdracon.
    “A blessed Festival of the Resurrection to
you, Swordbearer,” said Tarrabus. He was always polite. Ridmark had
heard that Tarrabus had once killed a man, and then bid his
children a pleasant day before departing.
    “And you, sir knight,” said Ridmark. “I did
not see you at the mass this morning.”
    The knights behind him laughed, but
Tarrabus lifted a hand and they fell silent at once.
    “I attended private masses in the chapel at
dawn,” said Tarrabus, “as is proper for a man of noble birth,
rather than attending the church of the ignorant rabble in the
town. I sometimes think the teachings of the church are useful for
the commoners, to teach them how best to spend their insignificant
lives, but are useless for men of power and rank.”
    “That borders upon blasphemy,” said
Constantine.
    Tarrabus spread his hands. “Have I denied
God or his Dominus Christus? I have not. God has given us, the
lords of Andomhaim, power over lesser men. We must use it as we see
fit.”
    “We must use it for the defense and welfare
of the realm,” said Ridmark, “not to glorify ourselves.”
    Tarrabus almost smiled. “You shall quote
the Pact of the Two Orders at me next, sir.”
    “It speaks wisdom,” said Ridmark. “The
Magistri are only to use their magic for defense, for knowledge,
and for healing. Never to harm another mortal. It is a wise
provision. Else we shall be like the dark elves, ruled by cruel
sorcerers of power, or like the pagan orcs, beholden to shamans of
blood spells.”
    “Perhaps we are not wise,” said Tarrabus.
“Perhaps it would be better if we used our magic as a weapon.